


Beyond the Veil

by neunundneunzig



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism, Character Death, Consent Issues, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Established Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Ghosts, Gore, Haunting, M/M, Murder Family, Necrophilia, Slow Burn, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 07:51:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17096762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neunundneunzig/pseuds/neunundneunzig
Summary: Will Graham is dead. But he may not be gone. Hannibal and Abigail find themselves haunted and distrustful of one another.THIS FIC HAS BEEN ABANDONED. SORRY.





	Beyond the Veil

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ! Warnings for the following:
> 
>  
> 
> Death — can't have a ghost fic without it  
> Cannibalism — obviously  
> Gore — detailed descriptions of bodies  
> Necrophilia — touching a dead body sexually  
> Abuse — Hannibal's relationship with Abigail in canon is built on manipulation

Hannibal watched for a moment as blood and cerebral fluid leaked onto the tiling of his kitchen. It would be a tedious stain to clean. He'd spend an hour just scrubbing. He sighed. This was not the time to worry about small details. 

He turned the body, hoisted it up, and carried it downstairs to the freezer. There, he stripped it, pocketing personal effects. He was already formulating the lie of this disappearance. He had it on its back now. He leaned, gentle, and put his mouth to the wound, tasting the copper, salt, and water.

He moved back upstairs and began cleaning the blood. He mopped the mess, making sure not one drop was left. Then he knelt and worked the browning stains from the grout. He may have to retile the whole kitchen. He tried not to be angry about it. There wasn't anywhere constructive to direct it at this point.

He wiped everything else off, then went down to the basement again. He would usually have in his plastic suit on, but this outfit was already to waste. He took his time with the body, ridding the hair of blood, cleaning out the mouth, the anus, wiping the creases behind the knee, of the elbow. He usually cleaned well, but not always so precisely. This was special.

He hooked through the ankles, between bone and tendon, and hanged the body up. He placed a tray beneath and slit the throat, allowing blood to slowly spill out. It would keep very well in the freezer.

Hannibal looked the body over and knelt by its side. He considered the pale, slack face, somewhere between agony and ecstasy. A somewhat common look for the dead. He caressed the greying flesh before giving Will Graham a parting kiss. 

_Will stayed still as Hannibal wrapped his wounded hands. They were even. He processed this slowly, feeling a warmth in him. Hannibal sat by him and began to say something. Will quickly silenced him, pressing their lips together, cautious but firm. Hannibal responded instantly, cupping his face and kissing him back slowly._

_He was gentle, then a little rougher, grabbing a handful of Will's hair. Will responded, still careful with his hands, but moving into Hannibal's lap with such speed he nearly tipped the chair. Hannibal broke the kiss and looked up at him, eyes dark and hungry. Will met them with a devilish smile._

Hannibal pulled away, shutting the freezer and going upstairs. He put the ruined suit in a sterile bag, planning to burn it later. He showered, cleaning every inch of himself of blood and sweat. He was less thorough than when he cleaned the body, but thorough enough to be well cleaned. 

He dried himself and pulled on his robe, deep blue and monogrammed. He slipped on his house shoes and poured himself a glass of wine. 

Hannibal went to his drawers and pulled out a small flip phone. He called a number. No response. Good. He hung up and called again. Abigail answered, but didn't speak.

“I will be coming by tomorrow.” Hannibal said, direct but warm.

“Are we going?”

“Not yet. You're coming back here. And we need to have a discussion.”

“...is everything… okay?” Her voice was wavering. She didn't know if the line was tapped, if there were others nearby. Hannibal had taught her every caution. It was clear she was nervous. He couldn't do much to soothe her worries, they had to keep phone conversation short. 

“Everything will be okay. We're safe. I will see you tomorrow.”

“I'll be ready.”

He hung up, rubbing his temples. He was already rethinking everything. Sleep would not come easily, he had much to plan over the next few days.

Saying “we” was a mistake. He had meant him and Abigail. She may have taken it to mean him and Will. He didn't want to break her heart more than he already was. 

Hannibal returned downstairs and to the basement, donning the plastic suit. It stuck hotly to his bare skin, as he had abandoned the robe for the task at hand. No need to ruin two outfits today. He moved Will, lying his body back down on a metal gurney. He looked more peaceful as Hannibal had ever seen him, despite the fact that his face was covered in the last bits of blood seeping out.

He cleaned his face, it seemed only polite. He spoke with Will often in his mind. Speaking to him here was quite the same. He would talk to bodies at time, but those were more conversations with himself. Not many of his victims were worth talking to. 

“You've really ruined my plans, Will. I'm very disappointed in you. I thought you would be on better behavior.”

“I know it's been a very rough year for you, but this is exceptionally frustrating. You haven't even let me show you Abigail again. She was so excited for the reunion. Now I have to tell her you're dead.”

“At the very least you had the dignity not to ruin all of your meat. I think it would be terribly rude of us not to use you in every way. I'll have to ask Abigail's suggestions.”

He was finished cleaning, but didn't yet pull himself away. He took the blood and packaged it appropriately. He would figure out how to use it, as promised. Perhaps blood sausages. 

“Now, don't think I'm shutting you out. I would love to turn you into art. However, I think you having ran away is far better for me to work with than you dying. I cannot take more suspicion on. That's your own fault…. But perhaps a piece for a private collection. I'll give it some thought.”

He gave Will's forehead a gentle kiss and smiled. Will was much easier to be around like this, though he would dearly miss his biting cynicism. He stopped himself from feeling any grief or guilt. He simply would not. He should not. It found cracks anyways.

He touched the corpse’s cheek gently and walked away. He stripped out of the plastic suit and returned to bed, easing into sleep well enough. 

The next morning, he rose before the sun. He went down to reassess the kitchen, being perfectly sure there was no trace of evidence. Spotless, as he expected. He boiled himself an egg and ate it before going back to the basement. 

He knew there was no reason to. He knew Will would be in the same condition as before. But he had to look, to be sure the body was as it should be. 

Nothing had changed. Will was paler now, frozen. He was stiff from the cold and from lingering rigor mortis. Hannibal didn't touch, only looked over him again and tried to think about what he would cut from him to cook for himself and Abigail tonight. He couldn't resist such a fresh kill for dinner. It would be an important meal. He had been waiting to eat Will since they met. There was much more use for him when he was alive, but now, recipes flitted through his mind. Only the best for Will. 

He considered this for some time before returning upstairs, dressing himself, and departing.

Abigail had been staying at his house on the cliffside for the time being. He disliked leaving her there and visited when he could. He planned to collect her soon and bring her back. He truly hated not being able to reveal her to Will. He was so looking forward to his excitement. 

Will would have hugged Abigail tight, crying in joy, before grabbing Hannibal and kissing him deeply, muttering how he loved and hated him for it. They would have been a family again. 

Will had to ruin it all for them.

Hannibal arrived after some time, undoing each of the locks and opening the door. He waited for a moment before smiling and saying, “It's only me, Abigail. Come out.”

He heard footsteps as she ran down the stairs. She had her hair back in a ponytail, revealing her unfortunately absent ear. His eyes went there instantly, but he corrected immediately. 

“Hey!” She ran up and hugged Hannibal, “I was worried you'd forget about me.”

Hannibal cupped her face, smiling fondly, “Nonsense.”

“So, are we leaving soon?” She tried not to smile too wide, “Is Will with you?”

His smile dropped.

“...He's still coming, right?”

“Abigail…” he rubbed her shoulder gently, “An accident has occurred. Will is dead.”

She blinked, “Are you… are you serious?” 

“I'm afraid so.”

Tears welled up in her eyes. Words caught in her throat. Hannibal pulled her to his chest. She trembled with sobs. He wished he could do anything more to comfort her, but her grief had to be felt. She was strong, so much like Mischa. The fierceness is what drew him to begin with. 

He pulled back and gave her his handkerchief. She dabbed her tears lightly, clearly not wanting to ruin the fabric. Hannibal appreciated how considerate she could be. 

“I want you back at my home with me. I can't stand to leave you here alone much longer. Once the fuss surrounding Will's disappearance has calmed down, we will leave for Europe together.”

She nodded, “Thank you. Am I going today?”

“Yes. Do you need to pack?”

“No, I… I packed yesterday just in case.” She pursed her lips, “How… how did he die?”

Hannibal closed his eyes. 

“He fell. Hit his head the wrong way and hemorrhaged.”

She nodded a little and went upstairs to gather her things. Hannibal looked over the kitchen. It was clean, no scents lingering. Abigail hadn't had breakfast yet, it seemed. He wished he’d known, he would have brought her something. It was quite a drive home. 

Abigail was in the trunk, so that she wouldn't be seen should Hannibal be stopped by the authorities, or should an acquaintance see him driving. She was very good about it, only requesting to listen to music as she was in there. Hannibal of course provided. 

Immediately as they got inside, Abigail had a request he expected. “Can I see the body?”

Hannibal nodded and led her down. Will was frozen, looking the same as he did in the morning. Hannibal knew he should cut him up. 

Abigail was tearful as she looked at him. He felt bad, momentarily, for Will's nudity. He knew it would have embarrassed the man. But he was only a body now, and would not feel. Abigail moved closer, lifting his head to assess the damage on his skull. She touched it gently, then looked back at Hannibal, “If you killed him on purpose, you can tell me.”

“I wouldn't lie to you.” Hannibal said, a bit firmly, disliking her accusation. 

“Why didn't you call an ambulance?” 

“Because he was already dead by the time I found him. I couldn't risk my home being searched again, and I didn't want to give his body over to the authorities when the meat was good. He would have wanted it this way.”

She nodded pulling away, “Okay. I was worried about him going to waste. So we're eating him?”

Hannibal smiled, “Of course we will. What would you like tonight?”

She looked him over, “The brain is too dangerous, Mad… person disease I guess.”

“Creutzfeldt-Jakob. Yes.” He nodded. Should he only be risking himself, he would undoubtedly eat it. But Abigail was still young, weaker in some ways, and didn't need to be taking chances.

“Well the first meal needs to be important. Can we eat his heart?”

Hannibal placed a hand on Will's cold, still chest. “Of course. It belonged to the two of us anyways.”

He thought he felt a beat, for just a mere moment. He knew it was likely the feeling of his own pulse. It had to be. Will was dead. 

“Settle yourself upstairs, pick any room except mine. I'll have to leave soon for an appointment, but I'll be back to make dinner in the evening.”

Abigail gave Will a last sad look and nodded before leaving Hannibal alone with him. 

_”Which part of me would you eat, if you were going to eat me?” Will hummed softly, head resting on Hannibal, tracing the man's chest hair, “Well. Let me rephrase. Which part of me will you eat, when you eat me?”_

_”All of you, of course.” Hannibal tilted his head up and kissed him, hand sliding down his back._

_Will broke the kiss and huffed. His breath still smelled like Hannibal's sweat and semen. ”You're avoiding the question.”_

_Hannibal looked him over slowly, “You want to know where I would start.” He traced his hand up, rubbing Will's chest, “I would eat your heart raw. Let the hot blood spill into my mouth. Then I would freeze you. I would cook your brain, savor every bit of it, for all the wonderful it has provided me with. Then, your testicles and penis. I would need to have them in my mouth once more.” He moved on top of Will, “Shall I continue?”_

_Will grinned, spreading his legs, “Nah. Not with the talking, at least.”_

Hannibal blinked, realizing his hand was on Will's thigh. He pulled himself back and went away from the body. It was a body now. He couldn't touch it like he touched Will. It was meat. An object. Not Will. 

He found himself distracted through the series of sessions he held, moving automatically into probing questions, gentle advice. It was like when he first met Will. He was the only thing on Hannibal's mind. He preoccupied his thoughts, absorbing him. It's what made him want to kill or frame Will to begin with. Obsession was for other people, not for him. 

As he got into his car, Jack Crawford called him. Sooner than he thought. He knew the call would come. 

“Dr. Lecter speaking.” He answered.

“Hannibal. It's Jack. Have you heard from Will?”

“Not today, our appointment is not until tomorrow.”

“Hannibal.”

“Jack.”

A tense silence populated the line. Jack wanted to accuse Hannibal of kidnapping him, or even killing him. But he used up all his cards long ago. Hannibal could respond with suitable outrage, and Jack would not be taken serious by any around him. Hannibal was untouchable. 

“I'll let you know if he's absent from his appointment tomorrow. Please keep me updated on this matter.”

“Will do. He hasn't been answering his phone. Alana is going by to check his home now.”

“Alana?” He hummed. He thought they'd quite fallen out. 

“Yes. She's concerned. He has a history of mental instability. We're not ruling out that he could be a danger to himself or others.”

“...you think he may have committed suicide? I haven't had any indication that he's suicidal. Even when he was in custody.”

“He's been under a tremendous amount of stress, so we can't rule it out. But personally… I don't think he killed himself.”

“Let's not think so grim. Let me know how he is, should he be home.”

“Alright. Thank you.”

“And you. Goodbye Jack.”

He was glad they would check the house. He knew Will would be distressed if his dogs went hungry for too long. He didn't care much for them, but Will loved them, and they were extremely loyal. He appreciated loyalty.

He would have to speak with Alana sometime, destroy any minute seed of doubt Jack may have placed in her mind. Make her feel trusted and make her defend Hannibal. It would be very easy. She was already quite loyal to him. He smiled to himself. It was an unkind comparison, and unwarranted. Alana was extremely intelligent. Just blinded.

As soon as he was home, he went upstairs and called for Abigail. No response. He called her name again. 

“In here!”

Hannibal entered the room. She was reading a book, Hannibal couldn't see the title, but saw the words were French. He smiled, “Ce que tu lis?” 

“Le…” she glanced at the title again, “Le Scaphandre et le Papillon.”

“Un bon livre.” He nodded.

“Oui…. Can we speak English? It's been a while since I've had someone to talk with.”

He sat on the bed, “Of course. I'm sorry Abigail. Are you enjoying the book?”

“As much as I can. It makes me think a lot about my life.”

“Oh?”

She shrugged, “About the old women in that place they had me living in. Just trapped in their minds. They're the only one in their reality. And just being in the hospital after dad in a coma for a bit... And kind of about Will.”

“Why Will?”

“I mean… he's always caught in himself or others. I'd say he's trapped but he gets into other people's heads in a way no one can.” She pursed her lips and sat up, “I know that's why you were going to take him with us. But I know he's not stable, not unless you're keeping him stable. If it was self defense, I understand.”

Hannibal tensed, “I didn't kill him, Abigail.” he stood and moved to the door, “I'll get you when dinner is ready.”

Hannibal left, and was halfway down the hall when the door slammed hard. He grit his teeth, taking a slow breath before turning and opening the door again, “Abigail. I do not tolerate rudeness. You will not slam doors in my home. No matter how you feel it is _entirely_ inappropriate.” 

She blinked, looking up in confusion, still sitting square on the bed, “I didn't slam it. I thought you did.”

He looked. The door opened inward. There were no windows open. A strong breeze couldn't have been it. He frowned, “I'm very sorry for being sharp with you. It must be the hinges, I'll work on them tomorrow.”

“It's okay.” She nodded, “Thanks for apologizing.”

He nodded and left. He could tell Abigail was shaken by his harsh tone. He didn't want to scare her at all. And it was clear she didn't slam it. It wasn't even that she slammed it and scrambled back to sit. She truly didn't. He would have been able to tell if she was lying. 

Abigail set her book down for the moment. She didn't know what to believe. She knew she should just believe Hannibal. It would be so much easier if she did. She wanted it all to be that easy. But he made such a poor case for himself. 

When they buried Nicholas Boyle, he was confident, straightforward and brought in no emotion except to comfort her. Even when she dug him back up, he was scolding, but never sharp like he'd just gotten then. He was haunted by something. It made her feel like he was lying. 

If he did kill him, she only wanted to know why. They were supposed to be a family, that's what this was all for. Will couldn't have just died for no reason. It all just felt wrong. 

In the basement, Hannibal stared at Will's chest for a long time. He pressed his ear to his chest, hearing nothing at all. He felt more unsure of himself than he had been since the years following Mischa’s death. He thinks he very well may have loved Will.

He trailed his hand down Will's body, feeling the meat of his leg. It would be a good cut. Firm. A little lean, but not bad. Perhaps this would be better. No, no, Abigail wanted the heart. 

He carved in. All the while, he tried to ignore the blood he saw pooling around his gloves hands. Corpses didn't bleed. Sometimes, at best, they would seep some cooling blood like the first beads of precome oozing out of an erection. Not this, where the knife was covered in it. He knew he drained the body best he could before. There couldn't be blood like this. 

He pulled out Will's heart and held it cautiously, an irrational fear in his mind that it may start beating again, or hemorrhaging. But it was still. He looked down, and the blood seemed to be reabsorbed into the body, if not vanished. Hannibal closed his eyes tight, then opened them again. He needed to get control of himself. 

He stared at the chest, then sewed the offending wound back up, hiding it from himself. He held Will's heart, then brought it to his lips, just pressing against it. Another part of Will that was his. He felt almost overly sentimental. 

They ate in silence. It was a communion. Will's last supper, though Hannibal doubted it would be the last time he graced the table. He feared his anger earlier had scared Abigail. She said she wanted more conversation earlier. He would like to soothe her worries, but he couldn't bring himself to break the quiet. 

On their plates sat tartare, topped with egg yolk. The way it broke and spilled it's juice over the raw, tender meat brought Hannibal's mind back to the bloody mess of removing the heart. 

While they were cleaning, Abigail spoke, “When you go back down, uh, just… I know he can't hear us, but tell him thank you.”

Hannibal smiled, “Of course, dear.”

“We're not just eating the heart, right?”

“No. I assure you, we well make use of all of Will. Consider what you'd like to eat next for me. And I will find a way to make use of the material not edible.”

“Are you going to… to display him?”

“Perhaps. I'm yet undecided.”

* * *

Hannibal knocked gently on the door of Alana's office. She looked up, a little frazzled, then put on a smile, “Hannibal. Please, come in.”

He entered and shut the door, “I'll get straight to it. Will hasn't shown up for his appointment. Jack said you went to visit him. Is he alright?”

She sat up, “I don't know. He wasn't there. I fed the dogs and I'm going back by this evening. I think Jack is going to put up a patrol by his house. We're worried about him.”

He leaned in, knitted brows, “Are you worried something's happened to him, or that he's done something?”

“Hannibal. You know he's… unstable at times. I worry about him now. And I don't understand what he and Jack are doing. I don't understand your relationship with him either, to be honest.”

“Oh?”

“Hannibal, aren't you worried he'll try to kill you again?”

“No.” He said. This was perfect. He would have Alana's complete trust by the end of this meeting. 

“I know you want to see the best in him but he's dangerous.”

“Alana. I hope what I'm about to tell you won't hurt your image of me too severely, but for the sake of finding Will, I believe it is important. Will and I are lovers.”

She blinked, completely taken aback by the statement. After a bit, she said carefully, “What does that mean.”

“Will and I have been in a sexual and romantic relationship.”

He could tell every issue with that was running through her head. There was plenty to choose from. But the first one was said, and said more coldly than he expected.

“He's your patient.”

“I know. That's why we have kept it to ourselves. But you're aware our relationship has always been very complex.”

“Complex.” She scoffed, “I don't think I know who's taking advantage of who. You don't need me to tell you how insanely inappropriate this is. I can't believe…”

“It wasn't purely sexual. You must know that.”

She met his eyes, full of concern, “He manipulated you before. He's not a psychopath, I… I don't know what he is, but I don't know if he can love anything but his dogs.”

_Hannibal woke to an empty bed. He frowned, splaying his hand to the space where Will previously laid. It was damp with sweat. Not the lovely reek of sex, but the sourness of fear. Nightmares. His poor boy._

_He stood slowly, watching the placement of his feet, walking silently. He noticed his bedrobe was missing, so he descended downstairs nude._

_Will was leaning over Hannibal's kitchen counter, nursing a steaming mug. His worried, wary face shone with moonlight filtering in from the window. Hannibal’s robe hung on him, the dark color making him look paler still. He turned to Hannibal, giving an apologetic smile._

_”Sorry. I just… yeah, nightmares. I didn't want to wake you but I couldn't fall back asleep.”_

_Once Hannibal drew nearer he could smell the brew Will drank. It was black tea and whiskey. Fair quality of both. To assuage Will's nightmares, Hannibal would give him top shelf, highest quality of anything. He reached over and took one of Will's hands in his._

_“It's impossible for me to put words to how I feel about you.” He muttered as Hannibal rubbed along his knuckles gently. Will had fallen now into his old habit of avoiding eye contact as he spoke, “Every part of our relationship is contradictory.”_

_Hannibal brought Will's hand to his lips, kissing his knuckles gently. He didn't want to probe Will in this moment, he didn't want to hound him. He wanted Will to be open and vulnerable. He wanted whatever his beautiful lover, who's eyes held countless deaths, whatever he would see to give him. And Will never disappointed._

_“It's impossible.” He watched Hannibal move to kiss his fingertips, “It's impossible to spend all night in your arms, and then dream of killing you, tearing you apart and breaking you and- Ahh!”_

_Hannibal released Will's forefinger from his bite and licked it gently, catching his blood. He didn't let go, still holding, gentle but firm._

_“You surprise me by still having these worries at this point. Will. If I did not feel the same towards you, neither of us would be here, not the way we are now. You should not feel guilt over our passions.”_

_Will thought, then smiled and traced blood across Hannibal's lip, “Passion burns quick and bright. I don't think there's a word for what we have.”_

_Hannibal dropped his hand, pleased. Will grabbed his mug and drained it, then set it by the sink. He looked at Hannibal for a moment, hesitating before saying, “I love you, Hannibal.”_

_Hannibal met his gaze, “I think your nightcap was strong enough. Let's get you back up to bed.”_

_They both knew Will wasn't more than tipsy. But Will didn't call his bluff. His embarrassment at the rejection silenced him. He followed Hannibal without another word._

“He did love me, Alana. And I loved him. I never told him that. And if something happened to him, it will be one of my greatest regrets.” He stood quickly, only somewhat acting, “Good afternoon, Alana, please let me know when you have more information.”

* * *

Hannibal sat across from Will, seated in a chair he had brought in. He crossed his legs, staring at the body. It had been several days since Will missed his appointment. Alana had called again to say there was no sign, and a formal investigation was underway. 

He flipped through his sketchbook, looking the pale, soft body over. He never had to force ideas, they came to him so easily. He was an artist. But this piece was a struggle. 

He looked over Will as Saint Sebastian, face sweet and pious. And Will was quite the martyr. His mouth was open in the ecstacy of death, eyes wound shut. 

There was Will with his skull split open and stag antlers screwed on place, blood running down his cheeks, though it wouldn't if Hannibal executed this. Will once told him about his hallucinations, visions and dreams that led him to realizing Hannibal. His clever little subconscious had placed Hannibal as a wendigo, damned as the devil for his desire for human flesh. 

The next was a personal piece, not any inspiration for posting the body. Hannibal rarely incorporated himself into his pieces. Will, as always, proved exception. This piece mimicked Ivan the Terrible with his son, showing Hannibal as the Tsarevich, eyes wide and clutching Will's bleeding body. The drawing was done in a haze and the sight of it made him embarrassed at the depth of emotion he felt over Will to produce such a piece. 

Thankfully, the next was not for Hannibal, but, as most his work, a display for others. Will with his head cut open, his brain removed and sectioned into labeled lobes. His mind was on display, used up as Jack had used it. His body was slumped, no use to anyone but Hannibal. And no one needed to know all the wonderful passion it held, from beating Tier to death with his fists to wrapping legs tight around Hannibal. 

The next sketch was only the segmented brain. Perhaps that was all he would give up and display of Will. The artwork degraded again from there. It was base, compared to his usual soft renaissance inspirations. Will's chest split open, hands touching inside himself in a pornographic display. Him laying, looking at Hannibal alluringly, with milky dead eyes. 

Hannibal knew he needed to do something with Will, even if it wasn't consuming all of his body. The corpse laid in the basement, gnawing at Hannibal's mind. He knew he and Abigail would be gone soon enough but it troubled his thoughts more than any death in good memory.

* * *

Alana sat on the knowledge for some days, trying to process it. After several days, she reached a conclusion her mind didn't allow her before for the sheer horror of it. And the day she connected it, Jack Crawford was unfortunate enough to be visiting her to give updates (of which there were very little) about Will. 

“We've conducted a search of his home. There are no signs of forced entry, no signs of struggle, and most importantly, nothing to point to him running away. Now, we don't believe he…”

She stared as he droned on. He was trying to ease her, overestimating the small traces of friendship that came and went now, rather, then, with the two of them. But with her recent thoughts, she felt worse for Will than at any point before. 

Once he stopped talking, waiting now for response, she took her time. Drank from her water bottle, looked aside, took a slow breath, and finally spoke. 

“Just so I have the timeline right, how long ago did you start whoring Will out?”

Jack blinked, sitting up straight in his chair, “Excuse me?”

“There's another term, right? When did you start to use him as a honeypot?”

“What?” Anger entered his tone

She met his gaze, icy and firm, “When did you suggest Will begin to have sex with Hannibal, and when did he begin following those instructions.”

Jack blinked and looked around a bit, as though he was expecting someone else to appear. It was clear he heard her perfectly, but he still prompted, “I beg your pardon?”

“Jack. Hannibal told me about their _relationship._ I know you have some kind of hold over Will and you both still think Hannibal is guilty. Don't deny it. I want real answers before I go to top brass because this is… this is incredibly fucked up. For everyone involved.”

“Alana. This is the first I'm hearing of it. I would _never_ do something like that to any of my agents, especially not Will. It is beyond worrying to me that you think I would.”

She studied his face. He was telling the truth. Lying wasn't one of Jack's strongest suits. She nodded, “I'm sorry Jack. It's just… very hard for me to imagine Will sleeping with someone he tried to kill not that long ago.”

“I don't try to understand the relationship. I don't know what reason Will had for doing it. But we're going to need to question Hannibal especially now. The fact that he was having a relationship with a patient is concerning, the fact that it's Will aside.”

“Of course. I don't want to see him lose his practice. I'm not saying what Hannibal did was right, not at all. But we know this is a unique set of circumstances.”

Jack nodded, then relaxed, a bit more casual, “I had no idea Will was interested in men.”

Alana shrugged, “I suspected but there wasn't ever a conversation.”

“Until he said he kissed you, I didn't really think… he's not very… sociable.” He shrugged, trying not to speak too rudely of him. 

“I would have never guessed him and Hannibal would ever…”

“No.”

Alana looked down, “Be honest, Jack. Do you think Will might hurt someone? I can't stop worrying about it.”

“I don't know. I really don't know. He's gotten darker lately. Stranger.”

“Do you think he would hurt Hannibal?”

Jack paused, truly thinking it over, “It's entirely possible. I'll need to talk to Hannibal. Patient confidentiality doesn't really extend when he's more than his patient.”

Alana sighed. She didn't agree with the sentiment, but couldn't argue. Everyone would just be in the wrong, she supposed. She was still unsettled by the fact. Hannibal never struck her as so unethical.

* * *

_As they were cleaning up from dinner Will made a sharp, needling little comment. He had been in a mood all through the meal._

_Hannibal snapped and shut him down, glaring harshly, warning clear in his eyes._

_But Will wasn't having it. He pushed harder, a low blow, something said just to hurt Hannibal._

_Hannibal grabbed his wrist, muttering something low and serious. They'd come to violence with one another before, but not since their relationship began. It was all different._

_Will shot out and grabbed Hannibal's throat hard with his free hand, making it clear that Hannibal wasn't going to control him with intimidation. Hannibal released his wrist, and Will dropped his hold as well._

_He gave a long look to Hannibal, and then went to step away, making the mistake of turning his back on the man._

_Hannibal snatched up a handful of his hair at once. Will tried to yank himself away. His eyes showed only anger, no trace of fear._

_Hannibal smashed the back of his head into the corner of the island counter, then dropped him as his blood began to pool on the floor._

Abigail sat straight up, sweating and panting. She wiped her brow, still shaking from the stress of the dream. 

Things were different with Will dead. Abigail wished they weren't but wishing as much was as pointless now as wishing he was alive.

She felt so uneven. Her nightmares were bad as ever. Will's death, in various forms came into play. Her eyes would trick her, she'd see him in the corner of the mirror in the morning, watching. She didn't think she could talk with Hannibal about it. She was trapped in herself. 

Hannibal was more tense and melancholy than Abigail ever thought to see in him. Twice now she'd been looking for him and found him in the basement staring longingly at Will. He said he was deciding which cut to take next. It was clear he missed Will dearly. It hurt her to see. 

Abigail crept downstairs to make herself some tea. Hannibal had a wide, lovely variety of them. He had some local honey that she loved to drizzle in to sweeten it. She tried not to look directly at the kitchen counter, nightmare still floating. She couldn't, just couldn't check it for bloodstains. 

But as she opened the cabinet, she noticed four wine bottles sitting empty in the corner. She frowned and picked one up. There was a bit swishing still, but not enough to fully cover the bottom. She sipped the rest, just because. Hannibal gave her wine with dinner, it wasn't an issue. She just wanted a taste. Hannibal had been teaching her how to identify by taste and smell, but she was just drinking it without reason. 

She knew something was wrong. Something that was brewing since Will's death. She took a slow breath in and went down the stairs to the basement. She could see it from only part way down. 

The table Will’s body laid on had been wheeled out of the freezer. Hannibal was laying beside it, wearing only silk pajama bottoms. His leg was hitched up lazily between Will's. He kissed at his jawline and mumbled against the cold flesh, “I love you. I love you so much, Will.”

Abigail moved silently back upstairs. If Hannibal was sober, he would have heard or smelled her. But he was clearly very distracted. 

The feeling was comparable to seeing her father slit her mother's throat. An instant, ice cold shock to her bones. And a clear certainty of what would come next. She couldn't stay here with Will's killer. It was apparent the reason he lied to her about it, and the perverse reality of it was too much. She had to get away from Hannibal.

* * *

_Hannibal woke slowly, completely aware of the fact that he was being watched. He looked over, and Will gave him a sweet, sleepy smile. Hannibal stretched his back and reached over to touch Will's arm, “Good morning.”_

_“Morning.”_

_“You've been watching me sleep._

_“Yeah. You look really peaceful. I never get to see you vulnerable, I can't help but watch.” Will's hand traced down Hannibal's chest. It wasn't sexual touch. It was a desire for contact._

_Hannibal drew Will closer and kissed him slowly. Their legs tangled under the sheets. It was lazy, directionless and perfect._

_He broke the kiss with a teasing hum, “Your breath is atrocious.”_

_“So’s yours.” Will smiled and started to move off the bed. Hannibal stopped him, holding him back to his chest._

_“You're the only one in this long to ever see me as… vulnerable.” Hannibal said softly._

_Will kissed the dip under his Adams apple. Hannibal was sure he'd never been kissed there. He tipped his head back, a nearly submissive gesture._

Hannibal opened his eyes. The scent of death clung to him. He took a slow breath in. Will was lying dead under him. He gave a breath out and pulled off. He surveyed the body and himself. He didn't do anything fully inappropriate. It was terrible that the thought calmed him. He climbed off the gurney and pushed Will into the freezer again. 

He didn't detect the least bit of decomposition or of aged flesh. He was like a freshly dead corpse. Hannibal looked him over, “You can't keep doing this to me, darling. It's going to lead to something bad if you don't stop.”

He went upstairs. Thankfully, Abigail was still sleeping. He put the wine bottles in the recycle. He hadn't been that drunk since graduating med school. How foolish he was. He needed to stop seeing Will as a person and more as meat. Otherwise it would keep going poorly. He showered himself off and prepared breakfast, a simple quiche.

Abigail was fixing her face in the mirror. She slept terribly. After seeing Hannibal, it was hard to get back to sleep. It felt impossible to see him again this morning. She rubbed at the bags under her eye, then a movement in the mirror caught her. The hallucination was familiar. She knew if she focused she would see Will's pale, bloody face looking at her in the hall past the open bathroom door. She closed her eyes, speaking firmly, “Go. Away.” 

She looked back up and it was gone. She breathed a sigh of relief. 

She made her way on downstairs, smelling breakfast. She knew she had to face Hannibal and she had to eat. It should sicken her, but something about the clarity of her future made her steely and calm. 

Hannibal looked up and smiled, “Good morning Abigail! I've made us a quiche with tomatoes, I believe you've said before that you liked this recipe.”

She smiled back, but didn't meet his eyes, “Yeah, it's great, _merci._ ”

Hannibal wanted to say something was wrong but he found himself trusting himself less and less. And with the hangover he was trying to hide, he didn't need to ask foolish questions. 

Abigail ate the quiche, asking a few questions about preparation. It mostly seemed to be for Hannibal's benefit but he answered happily nonetheless. 

“Now, I have several patients today, and I'm expecting a visit from Uncle Jack soon. I would like to ask two things of you today.”

“You got it, what do you need?” She said, still sounding just barely off to Hannibal.

“I would like you to write a brief essay on early medieval art, I know you've been keeping up with your studies. And I… I'm going to prepare Will's leg for consumption. Please cut off his lower left leg below the knee and leave it in the freezer. I may be in late tonight, but I want to prepare it for dinner tomorrow.”

Abigail pursed her lips and nodded.

“You're capable of butchery, this is an achievable task, isn't it?”

“...yeah. I'll take care of it.”

* * *

Hannibal was sketching between patients. He still couldn't come up with a vision for Will. By the time he heard the predicted knock on the door, he was just filling the page with a soft nude, leg raised in a horizontal contrapposto soft penis poking out from his thighs, lips closed in a sultry smile.

At the sharp rap on the door, he sat up, “Come in.”

Jack entered. His posture always showed how much he thought he could own the room. But he commanded no fear over Hannibal. He paced over, “Doctor Lecter.”

“Jack. How is your wife?” He smiled. It was polite to ask, and set Crawford at a clear disadvantage. 

“She's… alright. She's as good as we could expect her to be right now.”

He peered over at Hannibal's drawing. Hannibal didn't make an attempt to cover it, shading the curve of Will's ass without looking up, “Lewd for a missing persons case, I know. But I can't get him off my mind.”

Jack nodded and looked away, “Alana told me about your…”

“Yes. I’m aware of how unprofessional it is, but I couldn't risk not giving information that would help this case along.”

Jack nodded, “We talked it over. If you can cooperate with us in finding him, we can… overlook those details. Granted, he'll have to continue therapy under someone else.”

“I absolutely understand.” He gestured to his chairs, “Would you like some wine?”

“Yes, please.” He sat sternly, “When did your relationship begin?”

“Ah, I believe it was… yes, some time after the Randall Tier case.” He poured two glasses, “He came to me one night, visibly upset. I cared for him, as any friend or therapist would. And when he kissed me that night, I kissed back. I have always had a fondness for him. Though it seems wreckless, it felt like a natural progression of things.”

Jack took the wine, trying to hide his skepticism, “So you and Will were…”

“Lovers, I like to say. He was very nervous about people seeing us together, he wouldn't even let me hold his hand on our walks. But we are much more than a purely carnal relationship, though that is a large aspect.”

“...Right. Yes, thank you. How was Will in the weeks and days leading up to his disappearance?”

“He was troubled. Though about as much as normal. I would catch him staring off more often. I didn't think anything of it then, but I've been reflecting on that time a lot.”

“And he hasn't contacted you since?”

“No. Not at all.” He looked down sadly.

“Are you concerned for your safety?”

“No. Is there a reason I should be?”

“He’s made an attempt on your life in the past. Pointed a gun at you. Accused you of serial murder. And I'm sure there's even more between the two of you than I know.”

He smiled fondly, remembering the tightness of Matthew Brown’s noose around his neck. A surrogate love letter from Will. A favor he was eager to return. 

“I believe I'll be fine, Jack. Will Graham poses no threat to me, I promise.”

Jack nodded uneasily. Hannibal could tell he thought he killed him. Or sequestered him away somehow. But there were no grounds for a search warrant, and he would likely never discover Will's body in his basement. If he moved as he should, there would be no body left by the time he and Abigail fled the country.

* * *

Abigail drug herself downstairs. She had already packed herself a small backpack and hidden it in her closet, under clothes. It was just some money, a few clothes, and her passport. Hannibal never took it from her. Her heart hammered the whole time she packed, nervous of every creak and noise. She didn't know how Hannibal would react, but she certainly knew what he was capable of. 

In the basement cooler, she stared at Will's corpse. Abigail took a sheet and covered everything but the legs. She was able to think of him as just a body before witnessing Hannibal's actions. Now, his nude form made her self conscious to view. She took up the knives and the bone saw and began the process. 

The flesh cut almost too easily, and she found herself feeling sick. She needed to use his body to honor him. But she wanted to give him a funeral. Will deserved that, she thought.

“Abigail.”

Abigail snapped her head up, then huffed. She was hearing things now. She closed her eyes tight, then opened them again and continued. 

“Abigail.” Will's voice came again. It sounded more kindly this time. Understanding. 

“Stop it please. You're not real, this isn't real.” She muttered to herself with determination. She cut through the final bit of flesh, crying as she held Will's leg in her hand. She waited a long moment. No more sound came.

* * *

Abigail was quiet for a while as she helped Hannibal prepare dinner. She cut the herbs for the marinade without a word. Hannibal knew something was wrong but he knew better than to make her nervous.

“This will marinate for a day. It will be a good meal tomorrow, rich with flavor, and perfect to accompany his meat.”

She nodded, then bit her lip and finally spoke, “So. How was the meeting with Crawford?”

“It went well. I disclosed mine and Will's intimate relationship with him. He only slightly accused me of the murder.”

“...So what were you two?”

“Lovers.” He hummed, “The passports I had listed us as husbands, you our adopted daughter.”

“Sounds about right.” She shrugged, “I knew you two were close but…” 

Something troubled flashed across her face. Hannibal stared for a moment, in case she decided to finally speak her mind. He sighed softly, “Do you still believe I killed him?”

“No.” She lied.

Hannibal looked a moment longer and brought out mushrooms to slice. He let her not speak for a bit longer. He remembered being insufferable himself at times as a youth, and resolved to be patient with her. He remembered as well the murderous thoughts and distrust he harbored then. Though he wanted to shield her from the world, he knew she had already fallen on a similar path. Her father damned her to it and Hannibal had sealed her fate. 

Abigail fled to her book as soon as she was done helping with preparation. It gave her an excuse to not speak to Hannibal again and a mental distraction. She could always get into a different state of mind and forget she was eating her father's kills. It would seem disrespectful to not fully acknowledge Will. 

She thought about that as she finished packing while Hannibal was at work the next day. She hated to leave his body alone with him. But she had to look out for herself right now or things were only going to get worse. She couldn't fall victim to someone else again. She wouldn't.

* * *

Hannibal came to her the next evening. She noticed the small glass of whiskey in his hand. Her stomach flipped. He was drinking. What did eating Will's leg mean to him at this point? Abigail had no trust left for his intentions. 

“Dinner is ready. I've prepared the food and set the table, I didn't want to disturb you.” Hannibal gave a bit of a smile. He knew trying to battle the somber mood that had dropped over their relationship after Will's death was impossible, but this would improve with time. 

“Thanks. It smells... It smells delicious.” She stood, not quite meeting his eye. 

Hannibal sniffed the air slightly. He didn't smell rosemary or basil, or meat. Only the burn of a cheap, horrible aftershave. His heart ached at the thought. He took another inhale, “Thank you. Nothing but the best for Will.”

“Are you going to prepare all of him different ways?” Abigail found this topic was easier than anything else, somehow.

“I haven't decided yet. I act when inspiration strikes me.”

“I thought, um, you wanted to hurry up with it because then we can get out of the country.” Abigail had an extra edge of nervousness that Hannibal disliked. 

“Yes, of course we are constrained by time, but I want to make proper use of him.”

“I just don't know how much longer I can see his face.” Abigail sighed and moved to the dining room.

Hannibal gave the comment some thought before following her, stopping up short when he heard a soft gasp.

Hannibal looked up at the spread he had prepared and saw it in ruins. 

The roast was rotten, flies buzzing around the grey, weeping mess. Mold encased vegetables, spores spotting through the garnishes. Rot soaked through the tablecloth and a sickly sweet scent filled the air. 

Hannibal couldn't process the revolting mess on his table, nor connect it with the perfectly fresh and well made meal he sat down there minutes prior. He blinked, and the food looked once more like it should. 

He brushed past Abigail and pulled out a chair for her. 

Abigail sat and muttered a thank you. She knew what she saw. Hannibal was acting like he saw it too. But it wasn't real, it couldn't have been anything. She couldn't bring herself to say a thing. 

She didn't speak when Hannibal's hands moved a little too slow and cautious in slicing the meat or pouring the wine. She shared his anxiety that their feast would suddenly turn foul again. 

After a few tense minutes of silence, both of them slowly eating their meal and trying to pretend they weren't having a difficult time eating, Abigail spoke.

“Do you. No.”

Hannibal looked up curiously.

“It's ridiculous. Nevermind.”

“Please? I won't judge, I'm accustomed to hearing many kinds of things.”

She pursed her lips, looking at her food as she spoke, “Do you believe in ghosts?”

Hannibal paused for a moment. He was seriously considering the question. Abigail felt grateful, worried he would write her off because of this, or worse, mock her. She had to remember he was at least understanding. And try not to remember it was because he was a monster himself. 

“I am open to a realm of possibilities. I believe energy and emotions from the dead can linger because we allow them to. But I have seen far too much death to believe that the spirit lives on and lingers.”

She nodded. It was a practical response. She couldn't ask him what she really wanted to. She just couldn't make herself say it, no matter how much it danced on her tongue. She nodded and took another bite. She was being ridiculous and she knew it. 

“Do you?” Hannibal asked gently.

* * *

Abigail grabbed her bag in the middle of the night. She thought over and over about waiting until Hannibal left for work, but she didn't know if she could risk being seen until she made it to the bus station. A neighbor, a cop, anyone would be enough to ruin everything. 

She knew which steps squeaked, avoiding them carefully. 

As she crept down stairs, she saw Hannibal's bedroom light flick on. Her stomach dropped.

He opened his door and leaned over the railing, “Abigail. I'm very disappointed in you.”

She was running before she knew it. Hannibal lept over onto some of the topmost stairs. Abigail held back a scream, making it almost blindly for the door. She could hear Hannibal getting closer. Her ears roared with blood. She couldn't beat him in a fight, and she knew he would show more mercy if he wanted her dead. He killed Will over less. 

She yanked the door open. As she did, a figure appeared, blocking her path.

“Abigail! Hannibal! Stop!” Will screamed, then vanished in the moonlight. 

Abigail was frozen still. Hannibal made no move to grab her. It was undeniable. He saw him too. Abigail closed the door and looked at Hannibal. His face was paler than she had ever seen, his eyes blown wide. 

Abigail started to say something, but couldn't find a single word. Hannibal nodded at the sentiment. 

She let her bag fall from her shoulders to the floor. Hannibal didn't even look up, staring at the space where he knew they both saw Will Graham.

**Author's Note:**

> Update planned for January.


End file.
